


Clan Uchiha: Dying is Easy, Living is Harder

by eloquentelegance, Loudest_Voice



Series: Two Households, Both Alike in Dignity [4]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Badass older women, Clan Politics, Disabled Character, Gen, M/M, Theyre totally gay, Two bros living in a house, but its complicated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-12-02 18:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11515461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eloquentelegance/pseuds/eloquentelegance, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loudest_Voice/pseuds/Loudest_Voice
Summary: Uchiha Sasuke has a Byakugan and everyone  collectively loses it. Kakashi gets pulled along for the ride. He isn't even an Uchiha. He just lives here.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [@aluvsanime02](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luvsanime02/pseuds/luvsanime02) for beta reading

“No luck, boss,” Akino reports, sitting on his haunches.

“I see,” Kakashi sighs, carding a hand through his hair. “Thanks for your hard work.”

He bends down and hands Akino a biscuit. The summon happily takes it before poofing away.

It’s just as he had feared. His hounds found nothing; or rather, they found everything. Scent tracking does the trick in a pinch, but it’s much easier to trick a sensitive nose than it is to trick a Byakugan. Pieces of Orochimaru’s shed skin litter Konoha's forests for miles in every direction. It would have taken the entire Inuzuka clan to follow all the trails in a day.

The Hyuuga could have eliminated the dead-end trails faster, but apparently Hiashi has ordered his clan to only carry out the duties assigned to them directly on the charter that bought their place in Konoha, and absolutely nothing else. When the morning sun paints the sky orange, Kakashi accepts that Orochimaru has vanished, probably so well that even the Hyuuga could not track him, and heads home.  
  
He perches on the monument and pulls out his communication scroll. He writes a message for Minato-sensei, explaining his lack of progress, then heads to the modest home he shares with Obito at the edge of the Uchiha compound. Two clansmen are also on their way back from a police patrol, and they talk briefly about the weather and general village status. Kakashi’s first instinct is to be short. He’s exhausted and worried, an introvert even during the best of times, but he owes the Uchiha a great debt. Besides, most Uchiha are easy enough to talk to, especially for people like Kakashi, who would rather listen.  
  
“I hope Fugaku pulls through,” says Yuuki, a man with silver streaks running through coal-black hair. “He’s a good man, just settling into the role of Clan Head. None of us are ready to pick a new one.”  
  
“Little Itachi is supposed to be some kind of genius,” says his partner, a younger police officer with a flat nose.  
  
“He’s _eight_.” Yuuki turns to Kakashi with a look that says _can you believe this?_ Then he turns to the sky as if in supplication. “And not that much of a genius if he got into bed with Orochimaru.”  
  
“Come on, there’s no need to be saying that shit,” says Yuuki’s partner. “The snake snuck into his room, and he fought, right? That’s why Fugaku’s in the hospital.” They make a left turn and the younger police officer whose name Kakashi can’t place waves at the sentry manning the entrance to the Uchiha compound.  
  
“It doesn’t look like Itachi had any real interaction with the Sannin before tonight,” says Kakashi, partly to protect Itachi’s reputation, and because it seems to be true. Orochimaru had not been on the best of terms with the village for a good while, and still ANBU had been gobsmacked at the news that the snake had gone for Itachi.  
  
“Besides, if there’s a whore in the Head Family, it’s Mikoto,” says Yuuki.  
  
“Hush!” says the younger policeman. “You don’t know what went down there, but even if Lady Mikoto did. . . stray, what business is it of ours? Women do as they like; it’s not like they can give the Sharingan away.”  
  
“Unmarried women, you fool,” says Yuuki. “It makes us all look disloyal if the Clan Head’s wife will just let any bastard stick it in her.”  
  
“Not just _any_ bastard.” The younger police officer laughs. “The Uchiha have a Byakugan now, and on a boy. For all we know, Fugaku will be grateful when he wakes up.”  
  
“If he wakes up,” says Yuuki.  
  
Kakashi doubts he’ll be grateful at all. Even if the spreading theory that Mikoto did a Hyuuga clansman as part of some clan powerplay is true, which Kakashi doubts, they’ll still have to deal with the fallout. The Hyuuga are already making noise about how far they’ll go to protect their clan’s secrets and traditions, and Kakashi has been living with the Uchiha long enough to be sure that the Uchiha would shit all over that on principle alone. If Minato-sama doesn’t act swiftly and decisively, there might be war.  
  
The clansmen pat Kakashi’s shoulder on the steps of the modest house he shares with Obito, just as they would with any random cousin. Even years after getting Obito’s eye, such gestures give Kakashi momentary vertigo. He bows lightly and makes his way into Obito’s house - their house, he supposes. It’s a nice enough place, left to Obito by his grandmother. It has one floor with a kitchen, a living room, indoor plumbing, and two bedrooms. There’s even a backyard suitable for taijutsu practice, and the Naka River is close enough that even a civilian wouldn't need to worry too much about water access.  
  
Years ago, the Uchiha elders decreed that if Obito trusted Kakashi enough to hand over a Sharingan, then he trusted Kakashi enough to live with him. Kakashi had considered the whole thing penance then, living with his idiot teammate and his by-all-accounts arrogant clan. Turns out, he’d been wrong about the Uchiha as a whole. But, no matter how damning the thought, he had not been wrong about Obito. Not exactly.  
  
Obito had just barely survived the cave-in. The fingers of his right hand could no longer bend enough to hold a kunai. Most days, he sits out in the backyard, scrolls with chakra-sealing runes laid out before him, ready to be turned into chakra batteries for frontline soldiers. Obito even adds his own flourishes to the runes when the mood to craft better weapons strikes him. Those are always the best batteries, so sublime and malleable that Kakashi almost forgets that the chakra in them isn’t his own. Kakashi has tried more than once to convince Obito to show Kushina-san his personalized runes, but Obito just scoffs and sends him away.  
  
It’s unusual to see him working in the living room, especially so early in the morning, hunched over the table, prosthetic leg forgotten by his side. Obito makes the batteries to exhaust himself into a stupor sometimes, but since he’s been making them for years, he’s developed massive chakra reserves. There are jounin whose chakra reserves don't match Obito’s. Kakashi suspects that he’s one of them, especially since Obito’s Sharingan is an ever-present leech on his stamina.  
  
“Ah, you didn’t sleep again,” says Kakashi, when he enters the small living room he shares with Obito.  
  
“Slept pretty well, actually,” says Obito, without turning to greet Kakashi. “People looking for you woke me up.”  
  
“Sorry,” says Kakashi, glancing at the hallway that leads to his room. Obito’s room. He never knows where he should sleep anymore.  
  
“You're not injured, are you?” asks Obito, paint brush trembling over the scroll. He grunts viciously, blots the rune he’d been working with a splatter of black ink, and finally turns to look Kakashi over. “Minato-sensei sent you after Orochimaru?”  
  
“Not to fight him,” shrugs Kakashi. “Just to track him. I failed.”  
  
“Whatever,” says Obito, the harsh scars on the right side of his face twisting under his heavy frown. “Is it true what they're saying about Sasuke?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Heh.” It’s not a genuine laugh, but Obito’s rarely are. “Looks like cousin Mikoto is picking up my slack.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Every time Kakashi thinks he’s got Obito figured out, a new neurosis blooms from his housemate’s psyche. His boyfriend’s? Kakashi doesn't know what they are anymore.  
  
“The elders don't want my genes to die with me,” says Obito.  
  
_Clan business_ , a voice whispers in the back of his head. _Nothing to do with you_. But. . . “What?”  
  
“It’s _your_ fault.”  
  
What. Kakashi would say it out loud, but the last thing he needs is for Obito to ask if he’s suffered brain damage. “Can you start making sense?”  
  
“Nevermind. It’s nothing,” says Obito, turning back to his scrolls.  
  
It’s always something, but Kakashi knows better than to push. He starts walking past Obito, ready to pass out on whatever bed he runs into first.  
  
Obito speaks when he’s at the threshold between the living room and the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “I could just be a random cripple, but you’re out there making waves with my Sharingan,” says Obito. “So the elders want me to knock up one of my distant cousins. Thanks.”  
  
Kakashi has no idea what to say to that. Should he be... jealous? Is Obito happy? (Obito is never happy.)  
  
He feels his communication scroll warm up. A missive from Minato-sensei spares him from having to answer. He nips his thumb with his canine, smears it on the scroll, and watches as the message appears on the parchment.  
  
“Kumo here md-d.”  
  
With his own blood, Kakashi scribbles out a quick, “Odr?”  
  
“Cont invs. C U-Itachi. St in vill. Avb for em.”  
  
“You leaving again?” asks Obito.  
  
“Not really,” says Kakashi, scribbling a hasty ‘yes’ and putting the scroll away. “Gotta talk to Itachi.”  
  
Obito shrugs as he continues to work on his seals. Kakashi all but flees the house, wistful thoughts of a shower buried under the tangled mess of regret and hope he’s got wrapped up in Obito. They used to be better. Well, “better”. They used to be more honest with each other, more upfront.

Kakashi was the asocial, arrogant genius. Obito resented and admired him, then resented him more for being admirable. They sniped and they bickered; occasionally Obito started a fight that Kakashi always won. It was simple, easy, clean. It had none of this seething, roiling resentment. The consequences of war, Kakashi supposes. Bright-eyed, soft-limbed young things march in and feeble, warped wretches limp out. They would be the lucky ones. Most don’t come back.

A dainty, brunette girl immediately springs to mind. Kakashi squeezes his eyes shut, hands flexing into fists. It wasn’t his fault, Sensei told him. With Obito recovering in the hospital, their team had been disbanded. They had been assigned to opposite ends of the continent. Sensei sent to Kumo, Kakashi sent to Suna, and Rin sent to Kiri. She was to supplement their medic corps there.

Medics have the safest position in any platoon. They stay in the back, a decent distance from the frontlines. If any fighting reaches them, they’re more likely to be spared. But Kiri is notoriously bloodthirsty. Rin had stayed to buy her patients time to flee.

It had been a quick death, a good and noble sacrifice. Her platoon commander said so. Sensei had to hold Obito down, practically sitting on him. Obito had flailed and clawed, heaving out heart-wrenching sobs. That had been the start of it. His honorable discharge just compounded his bitterness. Obito was never to be a shinobi again, casually stripping him of the only life he knew.

But Kakashi, genius apprentice of the Hokage, remains on active duty. His bounty grows, and his infamy spreads. They call him Copy-Nin Kakashi now. And Obito gets to sit at home, making chakra batteries.

Heaving out a sigh, Kakashi speeds up his pace. He shouldn’t be dwelling on the past. The village is about to be plunged into chaos with the Uchiha-Hyuuga affair blowing up. The Kumo envoy arriving is just whipped cream on a shit sundae. A Sannin going rogue is becoming the least of their worries. Isn’t that just funny?

Iwa has an old curse precisely for this sort of thing. May you live in interesting times, they say. Very interesting times, indeed.

* * *

Kakashi doesn't run in the same social circles as Itachi, not that he has many of those to begin with. He reviewed the kid’s files once he learned of Orochimaru’s attack and found nothing to indicate a connection between the Sannin and the Uchiha heir, but more than enough to be wary. Itachi is a good chuunin - a great one, even - who completes all missions assigned to him with little fuss, no matter how tedious or difficult. And in three months, he’s killed more people than most chuunin do their entire career, barring war missions. No one seems to care about that, and Kakashi doubts it has anything to do with the personnel shortage. As Orochimaru proved, ninja villages only concern themselves with psychosis among its ranks when it causes problems.

The civilian nurse on the surgical floor informs him that the Uchiha boys are in one of the empty rooms, waiting for their grandmother to pick them up. “Poor boys,” she says, brown eyes wistful. “So well-behaved; I hope their father pulls through.”

_Well, one of them is a trained killer._

Kakashi thanks the woman and heads to the room, mentally snorting at his own random self-righteousness. How many people had he killed by the time he was eight?

_You were on an actual battlefield._

He walks into the room without knocking just to see Itachi’s reaction. And gets nothing. Itachi is huddled in a guest chair, head nestled on his forearm. He doesn't wake even though Kakashi makes no effort to remain silent as he stalks closer to the chair. Sasuke is on the bed, wrapped in a thin white bedsheet and curled into a fetal position. Kakashi frowns, signals at the young ANBU by the window to leave, and lightly kicks at Itachi’s chair.

Itachi startles awake, eyes flitting to the bed. To his credit, he calms almost instantly and his hand falls away from his hip, where he’s likely keeping his weapons.

“Kakashi-san?”

Kakashi takes a step back, giving the kid room to gather himself. He wipes a thin streak of drool off his chin, the birthmarks under his eyes a stark contrast against his deathly-pale skin.

“You up for some questions?” asks Kakashi. If the kid knows anything, he’s fallen under Orochimaru’s web, and if he’s fallen under Orochimaru’s web, then he won't volunteer what he knows without creative coercion. Without torture.  

“I’m ready,” says Itachi, standing up, back straight.

“Orochimaru hadn't talked to you much before last night, right?”

Itachi shakes his head, shoulders relaxing minutely.

“But he _had_ spoken to you,” says Kakashi. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“I didn't think it was important,” says Itachi. “He just said hello here and there, offered to help me train once. Congratulated me on awakening my Sharingan so young.”

“Did you tell him about your Sharingan?” Most Sharingan wielders don't go around bragging about it, but most Sharingan wielders are also not prepubescent.

“No,” says Itachi. “But it’s not like it’s a secret that I have it.” Itachi looks away, then adds in hushed tones, “He was rude to mention it.”

Itachi’s mission reports are more detailed than most. In one of them, he’d written “The man grabbed my ankle so I stabbed his wrist with my kunai, and when he tried to wriggle away I aimed a shuriken at his eye. I got him with the shuriken, then jumped and stabbed him in the throat. Blood got everywhere, so I had to take the longer route to the village so people wouldn't see me covered in it.”

“The man” had been a beggar trying to steal rations. Kakashi doesn't know what to do with that bit of information yet - he’s probably the first person who’s read that mission report (a simple letter delivery from one town to another, both within miles of Konoha). Itachi had shared the information without shame, as though it hadn't occurred to him that killing a beggar is excessive. Now he stands before Kakashi, thin and tired, piqued that Orochimaru had been “rude” once.

“Tell me about last night,” says Kakashi.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kakashi speaks with Rakshasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [@aluvsanime02](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luvsanime02/pseuds/luvsanime02) for beta-reading this!

Kakashi doesn’t mean to eavesdrop.

He’s strolling around the compound, enjoying the warm evening. He’s just finished a long shift, working with Intelligence. They were sifting through Orochimaru’s labs, and consequently, giving him nightmare fuel to last a lifetime.

It was draining, to say the least. He’s beyond exhausted. But Obito’s in a mood today. Kakashi had found him glaring at a note on the coffee table. It was a memo setting the time and date for a meeting with Obito’s cousin. His distant cousin. A cousin for him to impregnate.

All Kakashi had wanted was a bed. But he had taken one look at Obito and promptly spun on his heel. It was perfect weather for a walk, he had suddenly decided. After all those nasty fumes from assorted rotting experiments, he could use a bit of fresh air. Absolutely. Most certainly. He hadn’t been running or anything stupid like that.

The compound is eerily quiet, like the hush before a battle. He walks by several homes with the kitchen lights on and shadows seated around tables. There is the distinct sound of clinking cutlery, but not much else. He hears no laughter or noisy chatter. The entire clan is collectively holding their breaths. Kakashi feels his lungs ache in sympathy.

Then, he hears voices. It’s hard not to. The silence renders them loud and clear.

“Grandmother-”

“Grandmother, grandmother, grandmother. I’m always cleaning up _your_ messes.”

Kakashi catches sight of Lady Mikoto and Elder Rakshasha. He pauses just before turning the corner, and immediately steps back. They appear to be- Well, not arguing, but definitely having a private discussion. If he walks on, they’ll be sure to spot him. He’s lucky they haven’t yet.

“Grandmother, please.”

A tongue clicks. “Disgraceful. Why don’t you go begging at Yashiro’s or Uruchi’s door? Have them plead your case.”

“Be reasonable.”

“ _Reasonable_ ? This girl… asking _me_ to be _reasonable_? Ha! If anyone here needs to be reasonable, it sure ain’t me.”

“The Hyuuga will-”

“Save it. I’m old, not a retard. You don’t need to tell me what the Hyuuga will do.”

Kakashi really should leave. He could backtrack, head in the completely opposite direction.

“You’ll argue our case?”

“What do you think? Sage help you. Let me believe there’s _some_ wit between those ears of yours.”

“Thank you. Oh, thank you.”

There’s footsteps. Kakashi reflexively tucks himself into the shadows. But the footsteps don’t head his way. And even so, it’s not like he’s doing anything wrong. He’s just out for a walk. It’s not eavesdropping if they’re speaking out in the open, where any passerby could hear.

“If you’re quite done skulking around.”

Kakashi freezes.

“Yes. You. In the shadows there.”

Busted.

“Show’s over. Why don’t you watch TV like everyone else?”

Flushing, embarrassed and indignant, Kakashi searches for some sort of reply or excuse. He’s not some gossip or busybody. He breathes in, stance settling into a parade rest, and falls back on his military training.

* * *

Rakshasha raises an eyebrow, watching the lurker step out from the shadows. It's the Hatake boy, looking lankier than the last time she’d seen him. The muscles of his arms are pleasantly defined, but his face is covered in that ridiculous cotton mask, so Rakshasha can't judge if he looks as good as his father used to. His one visible eyebrow furrows with tension for a second, before his training kicks in and a blanket of smooth nonchalance falls over him. He bows perfectly, until his waist is at a ninety-degree angle.  
  
"Elder Rakshasha."

"Enjoy your evening entertainment?”

She hasn't heard from the Hatake brat since his pseudo-integration into the clan, which she had vehemently argued against. 

It'd been a fight she'd been willing to lose, as she doesn't care that much about the Sharingan, and it's good to lose fights sometimes. It gives her enemies some brief satisfaction, and thus gets them off her back for a little while.  
  
"I… I wasn’t eavesdropping," says Hatake. His tone is even and smooth, but those are the words of a teenager caught red-handed. "I was… I came here, actually, to discuss... Uchiha Obito."  
  
"I can think of few people I care less about right now," says Rakshasha. "The trial for my great-grandson is tomorrow!"  
  
"And… I trust that you have multiple contingency plans," says Hatake.  
  
Rakshasha snorts. She has less contingency plans than she would like, not that she would share that with this upstart.  
  
"With utmost shame for my intrusion, I'm here to ask that you reconsider your decision to demand a child from Obito." Hatake seems to have gathered his wits, speaking without faltering.

“By the Sage’s astral balls,” Rakshasha mumbles. She can't afford to waste the energy it would take to get mad at being spied on for this bullshit.

“Obito says that he is being asked to do this only because I’ve demonstrated that his Sharingan is strong,” says Hatake.

 _Does he now?_ That’s some fresh bullshit right there. Obito is an Uchiha clansman, and his testicles still produce viable sperm (his medics had checked them way back when he’d had his accident, while he was delirious with pain). It’s his duty to provide the clan with a soldier, simple as that.

“If that’s true,” continues Hatake, “then I must, as humbly as possible, remind you that I am a prodigy. Give me a weapon, and I will discover the most efficient way to use it.”

Rakshasha spares the boy a flat look. The shinobi calm still shrouds him. Rakshasha has trained countless Uchiha on the subject of shinobi serenity. And he’s young. She bets his lips are as white as chalk under the black cotton of his mask.

“Obito’s Sharingan isn't special. I am.” He isn't wrong. He’s also obnoxiously secure in his own talent. The declaration isn't a boast, just a flat statement of fact.

Rakshasha stares at his visible eye, silent and still. She wonders if little Obito is so wrapped up in his own inadequacies that he actually believes the line he’s fed his housemate, or if this is a glimpse of the bitter, petty manipulations that must go on in their house. If she explains to Hatake that Obito has always been expected to produce a child, regardless of how special his Sharingan is (or isn’t), then Hatake’s reaction will clear that up for her.

She’s not that curious about it. Besides, this brat is getting on her already-frayed nerves. “Obito will be expecting a visit from two distant cousins by the end of the month,” says Rakshasha. “And that’s final.”

To his credit, the boy only bows again, then disappears.

Rolling her eyes, Rakshasha looks at the empty, dimly-lit street. It’s so quiet, not even a rat or a mischievous tanuki wandering about. She turns around and hobbles back inside her house. She had been readying for bed before Mikoto rudely knocked on her door.

Rakshasha has been expecting a fallout concerning the changeling ever since Mikoto had appeared at her door years ago, a newborn at one tit and Itachi glued to her side. She'd thought she'd known what had happened before she ever got a look at the baby's eyes, and had ushered her granddaughter into the house without a word. It would just be a matter of flattering Fugaku just right, sucking his cock with the appropriate skill, flattering him sweetly enough, and Mikoto would be back at her house and out of Rakshasha's hair.

Then Rakshasha had seen the baby's eyes.  
  
She'd backhanded Mikoto, not even caring that she'd just had a baby. Blood had streamed from her nostrils, and Rakshasha had been so furious that she hadn't even sent for a medic. Some of that fury had been directed at herself. Rakshasha had raised Mikoto. Such unfathomable stupidity reflected badly on her.  
  
Rakshasha had walked away from her, heading for her sake stash. For once, she’d meant to get well and truly drunk - not just pretend to, but actually guzzle down sake until she couldn't tell her throat from her own asshole.  
  
When she was halfway through the first bottle, an idea had bloomed between her ears. The brat had to die. Newborns are such frail things. Even healthy ones just stop breathing in their sleep sometimes. It would be tragic, sure, but no more tragic than one single child bringing Konoha to its knees.

Mikoto would suspect the truth. She would hate Rakshasha until the Sage called her to the afterlife, might even give Rakshasha a push that way, but fuck her. Mikoto's indiscretion was the thing driving her to such an extreme in the first place. There weren't many crimes that Rakshasha couldn't boast of doing, but infanticide was one of them. 

She had sipped her sake leisurely, enjoying not having a baby’s blood on her hands for a few more minutes. Then she had yelled for Mikoto, making sure to inject as much scorn as she could into the name.  
  
"Mikoto!" she had yelled. "Mikoto! Come here, you stupid girl."  
  
Mikoto had entered the living room slowly, her shoulders sagging. She'd cleaned the blood off her nose. Already, her nostrils and eyes were an angry red. Whether from Rakshasha's hand or crying... Well, what difference did it make?  
  
"I'm going to need more sake," Rakshasha had said.  
  
"I'll send Itachi--"  
  
"No, I want you to go."

Mikoto had opened her mouth. A whimpery sound had come out, and then she’d whirled around, probably to hide tears. Maybe she had known what Rakshasha meant to do, and even understood that it must be done. Maybe Mikoto had been grateful that Rakshasha was willing to be the one to do it. Rakshasha had waited a few minutes after her footsteps had faded, then had stood up. She had walked to Mikoto's bedroom, forgetting to fake a limp. Her heart had beaten quickly, as though she'd find some great opponent in that room.

  
Instead, Rakshasha had found her favorite great-grandson sitting on his mother's futon, holding his baby brother in his arms. Any other child, certainly one more tedious than Itachi, would have been cooing or babbling, but Itachi had simply stared down at the baby, fine eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. She'd observed that look on Itachi's face only once before, a few months ago, when some brownnosing cousin had given him a bunny.  
  
Itachi had loved the fluffy creature, but it'd been a stupid thing and had gone and eaten rat poison. Itachi had wept quietly but inconsolably as it died in his arms. Rakshasha doubted he'd remembered the rabbit by the next month.

Still, she'd turned around that day and gone back into her living room. She'd plotted, and gotten even drunker than she'd first planned.

Now, years later, she sits in the same living room, resisting the urge to get good and drunk again. She doesn't indulge in sake often, though she certainly likes playing the old, curmudgeonly alcoholic. Tonight, she can afford to get drunk even less than usual. The trial for that boy that she had not killed will be tomorrow. She's played her cards right, but even she can’t prepare for every unknown. Maybe she isn't giving Honoka enough credit.

Sighing, she rubs her knees, easing the usual aches. There ain’t much use fussing over what ifs and could bes. What’s coming will come. Rakshasha can do nothing but wait to meet it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Mikoto asked her grandmother for help, this wasn't what she wanted to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [@aluvsanime02](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luvsanime02/pseuds/luvsanime02) for beta-reading this!

“Grandmother!” Mikoto yells from outside her door.

Rakshasha doesn’t even look up, continuing to clip her toenails. It gets harder and harder to do the older she gets. She oughta con Itachi to do it for her next time.

“If you’re here for the sake,” she shouts back, “I’ve already finished all of it.”

“Grandmother, let me in!” Mikoto pounds on her door. “We need to talk!”

Rakshasha doesn’t reply. The girl is a ninja. She can figure out her way in. After a couple of minutes, which is longer than Rakshasha thought necessary but shorter than she guessed it would take Mikoto, the security seals on her door deactivate. 

She hears Mikoto walk up and loom over her. If the girl expects Rakshasha to look her way, she’ll be waiting a long time. For a drawn-out moment,  neither make a sound. Mikoto simply stands there, abnormally still. Rakshasha picks at her littlest toe. The damn thing keeps getting an ingrown nail. 

“How could you?!” Mikoto bursts out.

“I can do many things. You’ll have to be more specific.” 

Rakshasha clicks her tongue. The lighting in this room is terrible. She can’t see a thing. Picking up her clippers, she gets to her feet and hobbles over to a different room. This one’s got nice windows, facing the backyard. It lets a lot of natural light in.

“Grandmother!” Mikoto cries, following her. “You told everyone I slept with Hyuuga Hizashi! You swore to keep it a secret! You agreed it would be for the best!”

“Girl, if you think they wouldn’t have found out eventually, then you’re more delusional than I first thought.” Rakshasha takes a seat, crossing her legs and pulling her foot closer. “I just sped up the process a little.”

“They’re going to kill him! Do you realize that?”

“Did you? When you slept with him? It seems a bit late to be worried about that sort of thing.” Rakshasha digs into her nail bed. Almost got it. 

A shadow falls over her, blocking her light. That prompts her to look up. She glares at Mikoto. 

The girl crosses her arms and plants her feet. “You’re enjoying this.”

“You gotta get your kicks from somewhere. Especially at my age.”

“This is serious.”

“This is stupid. The whole thing is so stupid, I could cry. From laughing.” Rakshasha points her clippers at Mikoto. “You’re an idiot. You’ve got a mouth and an ass, but you let him come in your cunt. Did I not teach you anything?”

“There was- I was sleep deprived and-”

“And he’s an idiot too. No self-respecting clansman would go around having sex with some harlot. What is he? A slut? At least you can pretend to have excuses.”

Mikoto opens her mouth, then shuts it, then opens it again. No sound comes out.

Rakshasha raises an eyebrow, completely unimpressed. She scoots over to one side, settling in a patch of light, and returns to her toenails.

Mikoto lets out a frustrated noise and breathes in sharply. “You told me- When Sasuke was born, you told me it’d be alright to keep the father a secret from Fugaku.”

“Because men are fools. Born that way. Women can be too, but it’s more of a choice.” She side-eyes Mikoto. “And you had just given birth. You were exhausted and hysterical, so eager to avoid any more trouble. Lying would buy you time. And didn’t it?”

“I just thought… I wanted to figure out a more peaceful way to settle this.”

Rakshasha turns to Mikoto then, facing her fully. “I don’t remember ever dropping you as a child. But I’m starting to doubt my memory.”

“Surely there must have been some way-”

“No. This was always going to be a shitshow. There was nothing for it, except to sit back and enjoy the spectacle. It’s what I’m doing.” 

“My boy could die, you know,” Mikoto says softly, her voice trembling. “Or they could have him sealed. We could throw the village into chaos. There would be bloodshed.”

“Yep,” Rakshasha says, angling her clippers. She manages to dig it just under the nail, squishing the skin around it… Aha! The blade finally catches hold. She got the damn thing. Breathing out, she wiggles her toes. It already feels so much better.

“Grandmother.”

Rakshasha glances at Mikoto. “Oh. You’re still here? Did Fugaku kick you out or something?”

She doesn’t reply, which is answer enough. Rakshasha waves a hand at her.

“I haven’t touched your room. It’s right where you left it.”

Mikoto mutely nods, walking away. There’s a flatness about her gaze, no longer filled with despair - or really any emotion at all. Good. The girl needs to get a grip. Rakshasha’s never had much patience for hysterics. Most would say she hardly has any patience at all. They would be right.

She certainly doesn’t care for any lily-livered lurkers too cowardly to speak with her. Sweeping away the nail clippings, she yells out, “You ain’t foolin’ anybody. Just show yourself.”

There’s a single peach tree in her backyard. It stands right by the window. It was a gift from the Sarutobi. It used to bear fruit, but stopped for some unknown reason. She’s never been much of a gardener, but it was probably a disease or a parasite. Still, it’s a nice tree, and Rakshasha keeps it around. Now, it seems to be the preferred perch of her least-preferred relative.

Shisui peeks out from behind the branches, catching her eyes. He flinches, and immediately hops onto her windowsill. It’s not much better, but at least she can see him properly.

“What do you want?” 

Shisui clears his throat and jumps down to the floor. He bows at a perfect right angle. “Elder Rakshasha, I must ask you to reconsider your trade offer to the Hyuuga clan. I’m not comfortable with-”

“Okay.”

“-being handed…” The boy trails off. He straightens up and gapes at her, stunned. “Okay?”

“They asked for you specifically. But I suppose we could talk them around.” Rakshasha shrugs. “It’s not as if a three-year-old is at risk, or anything of the sort. I’m sure we could stand to be picky about our means of convincing them.”

Shisui’s jaw slackens. He stares at her, incomprehension evident in every line of his expression. Rakshasha carefully keeps her face stoic.

“Perhaps we should offer Itachi to trade. That would be fair. A son of Mikoto’s for a son of Mikoto’s.” Rakshasha allows herself to smile at this. “Itachi is an obedient child. I’m sure he’d have less complaints about this whole affair.”

“Itachi is eight,” Shisui manages to say, sounding strangled.

“But already a chuunin. He’s a legal adult, and he can fully consent to marriage. Although, the Hyuugas will have to wait for any children. Well. Hopefully, they’ll wait.”

Shisui makes a spluttering, high-pitched noise. He resembles a tea kettle, down to the flush spreading across his cheeks, Rakshasha notes with a sort of distant amusement.

“Alright. I get it. Alright,” Shisui spits out, each syllable pulled from his lips like teeth from the gums. “I’ll… I’ll marry into the Hyuuga clan.”

“Don’t get any silly ideas in your head. You never had a choice, boy.” Rakshasha sniffs, collecting her clippers and rising to stand. “And please. You’re only moving next door. There’s no need to be dramatic.”

**Author's Note:**

> Loudest_Voice: I'm now at [loudest-voice](https://loudest-voice.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Chances are I won't be any better at this social media than any other. Come follow me if you got a tumblr!
> 
> Eloquentelegance: My tumblr is over at [cursedcomickids](https://cursedcomickids.tumblr.com/). It's mostly DC stuff but. Imma start putting some magic ninja content there too!!


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